


Quiet Moments Between Violent Breaths

by Saremina



Series: Shelter [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Friends With Benefits, Hurt, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Multiple, Some comfort, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 12:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18756727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saremina/pseuds/Saremina
Summary: It's like someone dropped a pin and the universe itself is holding its breath as they wait, frozen in time, for the pin to hit the ground and for time to start moving again.Interlude set after Those Lost And (Not) Found.





	Quiet Moments Between Violent Breaths

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this took a lot longer than I assumed, but I've had a pretty severe case of carpal tunnel syndrome to deal with, so I've avoided writing and drawing altogether for... wow, a month? It's getting better tho, and as soon as I'm done reading my current book and finished my ongoing video games (and the new one I'm getting on Friday), I'll be getting back to writing again.

It has been nine days, eighteen hours, twenty five minutes and thirty four seconds since the universe went to hell, and Shiro has barely slept.

It has been nine days, eighteen hours, twenty five minutes and thirty four seconds since they lost the Black Lion, the Galra Empire officially fell, and Alfor gained the pure quintessence from the rift; since Shiro and his friends had holed up in the Rebellion base, beaten and lost and broken.

Nine days, eighteen hours, twenty five minutes and thirty four seconds since Shiro last saw Keith; since they shared their last kiss and shared their last I-love-you’s. Since Lotor had pulled Shiro from the edge of death and into a small ship Kiira had told Thace and him to get to.

Nine days, eighteen hours, twenty five minutes and thirty four seconds since Shiro let go of Keith and allowed him to run to Zarkon.

It’s not that Shiro regrets it, he doesn’t; Keith had wanted to go, he’d wanted to be with Zarkon. It’s just that Shiro misses him. He hopes Keith will return — God Shiro hopes Keith will return — but... what would Keith be like? People have gone insane from mere seconds of contact with the rift, what would days of being in there do to a person?

A tea cup clatters next to Shiro’s arm, startling him out of his head.

“You look like you could use it,” Lotor says as he takes the chair next to Shiro’s.

“Thanks,” Shiro mutters and pulls the cup closer. He doesn’t want tea, but since Lotor had gone to the trouble of bringing it to him, refusing seems like the more taxing option.

“Thace has successfully contacted his people in the Empire, so we should have more allies soon, the Holts have established contact with their trusted Rebellion friends, and I have located my generals,” Lotor tells Shiro matter of factly. “We should also do a proper inventory of what we have, what we will need to acquire soon, and what we need immediately, especially since we will have more people joining us soon.”

“The Rebellion has a lot of things,” Shiro says. “We should wait until they get back in touch with us and see what they can bring with them.”

Lotor inclines his head and sips his tea. “That is acceptable.”

Shiro studies Lotor, truly sees him for the first time since they had left the Korya Zur. Lotor is the least affected by the recent events of them all, at least outwardly, but this close his eyes are haunted and there are shadows on his face that shouldn’t be there. He has cleaned up his armor, but it’s not as pristine as it used to be. Even his hair, while still perfectly in order, looks disorganized, somehow.

“Are you okay?”

Lotor raises an eyebrow, hiding his surprise at Shiro’s question so fast Shiro isn’t sure it was ever there. “I’m perfectly fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just lost your father and the Empire is basically gone,” Shiro replies.

Lotor looks away.

Shiro sighs. “Look, I get it if you don’t want to talk, but we need everyone to have their heads clear. So if you want to talk, I can listen, but if not then just... figure some other way to deal with it, okay?”

“I will take that into consideration,” Lotor says, his voice bordering on quiet.

Shiro hopes he does.

 

* * *

 

Pidge throws her pad on the table, sending dust drifting in the air.

“What is it?” Matt asks.

“This will never work,” Pidge groans. “I can’t figure out how to hack the Castleship, or how to get Keith back, or even how to build a networking system Alfor and his people, or the Galra not with us _or_ the Rebels who decided to join Alfor can’t find. I can’t do it.”

Matt puts his own pad down on the floor where he’s sitting, surrounded by calculations and charts and reports. “Need some help?”

Pidge rests her head on the table and nods.

Matt takes the pad Pidge had discarded and reads through what she’d written. “This is good.”

“But it won’t work, that’s the problem,” Pidge crumbles. “I could be the coding queen and it still wouldn’t work.”

“We’ll figure it out together. I know how the Rebellion likes to use their networks so that’ll help,” Matt promises. “And aren’t Thace and Lotor bringing in their friends? Maybe a Galra perspective will help us too.”

“Assuming any of them knows about how their networks know,” Pidge says, lifting her head from the table. “Basically we’re screwed. We might as well go back to using smoke signals.”

“Smoke signals...” Matt’s eyes grow distant and Pidge sits straighter, waiting anxiously for him to speak up again. It takes a moment, but eventually Matt grins. “Pidge, you’re a genius!”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “I know that, but how am I a genius now?”

“Smoke signals!” Matt scrambles to his feet, haphazardly collecting the papers and pads from the floor as he does so. “We’ve been going about this the wrong way, we’ve been thinking complicated when we should be thinking simpler.”

Pidge’s eyes widen. “You might be onto something.”

They rush to get to work, happy to have something else than sitting around to do.

 

* * *

 

Thace does his best not to pace. His eyes flicker from one passerby to another, expecting each and every one of them to be an enemy, then scolding himself for thinking that way. It is stupid, and he should stop. Expecting everyone to be the enemy is not quite so beneficiary as some think: it makes you too paranoid.

“Thace!” Marzila calls, waving her hand. Haala follows her, looking less happy to see Thace, but he is there and some of the weight lifts from Thace’s shoulders. He hurries towards the two of them, smiling.

“I was worried,” Thace starts, then stops, unsure of how he intends to finish the sentence.

Marzila inclines her head. “We brought a few friends. They’re at the ship.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Haala says, his ears flat. Then he shrugs. “But with the universe going to shit and us apparently having to do something about it, I suppose I can live around you. And she’s scary, so...” He nods towards Marzila, who grins.

“Thank you.”

“We should get going. The faster we get to the base, the better. We have a lot of work to do,” Thace says, taking the bag Marzila is carrying just so he can feel he is doing something.

They meet with Haala and Marzila’s friends, and though Thace recognizes Gailek, the two others are strangers to him. Marzila introduces them as Galvak, a thin man with a prosthetic eye and leg, a friend of Marzila’s from her days with the Hazori Order, and Tayla, a thick furred woman with a bright white braid. Marzila says they’re excellent with computers and security, less so with firearms, but Thace also knows her standards when it comes to efficient firearm handling so he reserves judgment of that for a later date.

As soon as they’re done with introductions, Thace shares the flight plan to the base with Marzila’s crew and heads to his own ship. They will need to take different routes to the base, just to be safe, but Thace knows it’s for the best. They reach the base a varga or so apart, but they all still make it there before Lotor’s generals — something Thace is secretly proud of — and they hide the ships in the small underground hangar.

“I believe the Holts are still working on securing the perimeters,” Thace says as soon as everyone has disembarked. “If you want to help them, I’m sure they’ll welcome it,” he adds, directing his words at Galvak and Tayla.

“That will work,” Tayla says, glancing at Galvak. “Just point us to the computers.”

“I think I need to introduce you to a few people first,” Thace replies, smiling at their enthusiasm to get to work.

Thace shows them the base as he searches for the rest of their small group, and unsurprisingly, he finds the Paladins, Holts and Lotor in the kitchen enjoying their afternoon snack.

Lotor seems to be engaged in some kind of conflict with Matt, Pidge, Lance and Hunk, but going by the smiles on Sam and Shiro’s faces, it cannot be serious.

“You didn’t spend a week buried under ancient ruins fighting a reanimated corpse —“

“A mummy, Matt, just call it a mummy,” Pidge cuts in.

“Either way that’s a lie,” Matt says.

Lotor shakes his head. “It is quite true.”

 _“_ Come on!” Lance throws his hands in the air.

Shiro laughs, finally standing and coming to greet the new arrivals. Thace introduces him, then nods towards the table. “What are they doing?”

“We were coming up with ideas for what we should do next and, well, the conversation took a weird turn somewhere along the way,” Shiro replies, then turns to Haala, Marzila and Gailek. “Good to see you’re alright” — he turns to Galvak and Tayla — “and it’s nice to meet you both. We expect everyone to contribute in some way since there’s too few of us at the moment for anyone to lounge around, but we want to work as a team.”

Shiro turns to the table. “Hunk and Coran are in charge of food and living arrangements, and Lance helps them with supplies. Hunk’s also in charge of engineering at the moment. The Holts take care of tech stuff, and Lotor and I take care of tactical stuff and we make sure things run smoothly on a larger scale so that everyone can focus on doing their own job. You have any complaints about anything, you can come to us and we’ll sort it out. Same with if you have an idea you think we could use, or you discover anything you think might be of interest to us.”

“We can work with that,” Galvak says. “Tayla and I would like to assist with the technical side of things; I served in the Hazori order with Marzila, and Tayla is my student, so I can assure you we are more than qualified in that field.”

Shiro nods. “Great. I think Matt and Pidge were hoping to get a Galra point of view on a problem they’re having.”

“I pick beating people up when necessary,” Marzila pipes in. “And cleaning.” He receives raised eyebrows from everyone except Haala. “What? It’s a really soothing way to pass time.”

“I think Hunk was hoping you’d help him with the engineering side of things,” Shiro says, turning to Haala.

“Sure,” Haala says, frowning. “Where’s Keith?”

Thace’s ears flatten, and Shiro looks down, sadness clear in the thin press of his mouth and the defeated set of his shoulders.

“What happened?” Marzila asks, serious all of the sudden.

“He’s... with Zarkon. They both fell into the rift with the Black Lion. Right now they’re out of our reach,” Shiro says, then sighs. “We’re trying to come up with a way to get them back, but right now our main focus has to be on getting to our feet and figuring out how to beat Alfor before he does any irrevocable damage to the universe.”

“We can do that,” Marzila assures him, though her pose remains tense. “We’re the greatest military force the universe has ever seen for a reason, you know?”

Shiro nods. “I’m kinda counting on it.”

 

* * *

 

Having his generals by his side again eases Lotor’s mind a little. He does not mind the humans or the other aliens that much, but they don’t operate in a way that makes it easy for Lotor to interact with them.

“We should just go take the Empire back,” Ezor says as they settle in Acxa and Narti’s room. “It wouldn’t be that hard right now.”

“If you want to get into the middle of the commanders turf wars, go ahead and leave. I am far more concerned of the enemy tearing us apart,” Lotor replies.

“I’m with him,” Acxa says immediately. “What good is an empire if it will get destroyed immediately?”

 _“_ What good is fighting the Alteans if there’s no Empire to go back to?” Zethrid fires back.

Lotor watches them bicker a moment longer before standing. “I have no intention of leaving the Empire to ruin. It is true that right now there is no way for me to take the throne and defend the people, but I have a plan to accomplish that.”

The generals sit straighter.

“First, we are going to work with the Paladins. So no scheming against them, no holding secrets unless necessary. Right now we need open communication with them so that we and the Empire will survive through this. Second, Acxa, Zethrid, I want you to go and find people loyal to me and to my father, and direct them to protecting civilians. We have to evacuate them closer to the heart of the Empire, and I fear we are the only ones who care enough to do that. Ezor, Narti, assist Hunk and the Holts wherever they may need it, at least for now.”

He gets four yeses, and the generals get to work immediately.

While Ezor goes with Zethrid to their room, Lotor goes to find the Holts with Narti. He explains her situation to them, instructing them to treat her like a normal person and talk to her directly if they need anything from her. “If she needs to, she can type a response or whatever she wishes to say on any of your or her devices. She can also sign, but I doubt you are skilled in Galran sign yet.”

“Nope,” Matt replies. “We didn’t even know you had a sign language. The typing will work for now, though. Right?”

Seeing Matt direct the question at Narti eases Lotor’s mind, but only slightly.

Next Lotor goes to find Shiro to tell him of their plan to assist the Empire’s civilians the best the five of them can.

“That’s fine, I never assumed you’d leave the Galra to fend for themselves,” Shiro says. “We’ll help when we have the resources to do that.”

Lotor hides his surprise to the best of his abilities. “I would appreciate that, thank you.”

Lotor turns, heading to the door of the impromptu conference room, but Shiro calls after him.

“Do you...” Shiro clears his throat, glancing at the pads in front of him. “Do you want a drink? Sometime? Not right now, obviously, but...”

Lotor studies the way Shiro picks at the edge of one pad. He should say no, drinking anything stronger than tea, with the way things are with them and around them, doesn’t seem like a good idea. It has the potential to lead to... _things,_ too often. Lotor has no desire to get involved in _things_ at the moment; he has too much on his plate already, he does not need more complications.

“I wouldn’t ask, but on Earth... it’s considered bad to drink alone when you’re... I don’t know, mourning? Going through a rough time? I just thought that, since we both lost people and we’re both in the same mess... I don’t know.” Shiro frowns. “I thought it’d be nice. I mean we both know we’re not getting them back; the first time Zarkon ended up in the rift, well, the entire universe has seen what happened to him. He lost it when he fell into the quintessence for a short time, what do you think three weeks in the rift has done to them?”

“What are you mourning?” Lotor asks, approaching the table again. “The loss of a lover?”

Shiro laughs, the sound of it too hollow, and shakes his head. “The loss of my best friend, actually. You?”

Lotor reaches the table, gently tapping his knuckles against the woody surface. “I suppose the loss of a father. I am an orphan now, after all. And do not say anything about the Witch, for all we know she is dead as well. And she is _not_ my mother.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Shiro says, something like a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Lotor falls silent, and Shiro doesn’t push him to say anything. “I suppose I could join you for one drink,” Lotor offers eventually, and at least it makes Shiro smile more genuinely.

 

* * *

 

A month passes, and Shiro and his people can do little but grow their ranks one person at a time as they watch Alfor strengthen his position and the Galra fight among themselves, both of the forces tearing the universe apart little by little.

Shiro and Lotor make a habit of meeting for a drink at least once a week. They meet in one of their rooms (usually Shiro’s), and they have a single glass of the scotch like alcohol Lotor had somehow acquired for them.

They rarely talk about the situation they’re in, opting to either stay silent or talk about something a little less... depressing. Shiro teaches Lotor how to play poker with the cards Sam had made, and after one game he deems it one of the biggest mistakes he’s ever made, as Lotor has the best poker face Shiro has ever seen. In return Lotor introduces Shiro to the great classic movies of the universe — or so he calls them. Shiro suspects they’re just his favorites.

It’s... nice.

It’s nice to pretend, even for a moment, that things are alright.

 

* * *

 

Acxa sighs. Tracking down those who have any sense of decency and loyalty left in them is not as easy as she and Zethrid had first assumed. They meet too many people who want nothing to do with the Imperial Family anymore, and too many people who are too scared to want to follow anyone but the strongest, toughest warlords around.

They gain a few allies on the way, though. An officer here, a technician there; a group of lieutenants trying their best to keep a station full of Empire citizens secure in one section. They even find two commanders who jump at the chance to follow the rightful leader of the Galra — even if it’s not the Emperor.

On Lotor’s orders, Acxa and Zethrid put every single person they can get on their side to work protecting the civilians and trying to keep order in what remains of the Empire while Lotor works on a way to defeat the Alteans.

On one memorable occasion, they run into a group of druids passing by, but they want nothing to do with Acxa and Zethrid, and Acxa and Zethrid want nothing to do with the druids. They still inform Lotor of seeing them, as the druids and Haggar had disappeared at the same time with the Emperor.

Seeing the druids drift silently by in their ship had been more eerie than Acxa would like to admit, but at least they are still around, whatever that means.

“Where to next?” Zethrid asks.

“I say we head back towards the base. We’ll take the long route so that we can check the areas there,” Acxa replies and points at a sector in their starmap, noticing the way Zethrid’s expression darkens at her words. She must miss Ezor. “But not too long.”

Zethrid’s expression lightens and she inclines her head. “Hopefully we’ll find something to blow up along the way.”

Acxa smiles. “Let’s hope so.”

 

* * *

 

Nearly two months after Alfor stole the quintessence, Pidge, Matt and Lance go on a recon mission around the edges of the space Alfor has officially claimed as his; an area that is growing larger every day.

Pidge takes the Green Lion while Matt and Lance take a small but fast ship, in case they need to be able to be in more than one location at the same time. They also take a brief detour to drop Blaytz off to see his contacts (whoever they may be) before continuing on their way to their official destination, as Blaytz is hoping to secure them a new ship and he can’t fly two of them back to the base himself.

“He’ll come back with intel and treats,” Matt says over the comms.

“What kind of treats?” Pidge asks.

“Depends on who he’s meeting,” Matt replies. “Might be hot cocoa, might be space Twizzlers. Whatever it is, it’s gonna be good.”

Pidge whoops, then focuses on flying her Lion again. They have a mission to accomplish and they all know that no matter how important their fight against the Galra had been, this is harder: they have no Castleship to back them up and no Voltron to give them the kind of firepower they used to pack.

They don’t have the sense of security they used to have.

“I’ve got the station on my sensors,” Lance says as they approach their destination.

“Me too,” Pidge replies.

“Then let’s go see what their computers say,” Matt says.

Pidge takes point, and soon they’re all safely on the formerly Galran station. The Alteans had claimed it as theirs, and according to the intel Pidge and the others have, they’d set up an automated information processing center with only security around. They’re counting on that; they’re counting on the base running on minimal staff.

Getting to the computers takes time, especially since they’re trying to avoid being seen. Pidge and Matt hack cameras when they have to as they go — one at a time and only for a few minutes since they’d discovered the hard way that hacking the entire system will get them spotted immediately.

“Okay, we’re here,” Pidge whispers when they reach a set of doors. “Lance?”

Lance steps in front of Pidge and Matt, his rifle at ready, and nods.

Matt opens the door, and Lance leads the way in, shooting the two Alteans there before they can do more than realize their base has been infiltrated.

Pidge and Matt don’t wait around before rushing to the nearest computer terminal and plugging their laptops into the computers there.

Lance keeps watch while they work, counting the minutes so that Matt and Pidge don’t have to.

“Two minutes,” Lance says right on cue.

“Eighty-seven percent,” Matt replies.

“Ninety-one.” Pidge shoots a triumphant grin at Matt over her laptop. “I’m calling it: you’re gonna lose.”

“Nerd.”

“So are you,” Pidge points out.

Matt laughs. “Ninety. I’ll be on time.”

“Done.” Pidge unplugs her laptop and scrambles to her feet, with whole twenty seconds to spare. Matt follows suit seconds later.

“Let’s get going.” Lance leads the way out of the room. They get one level down, to where the Green Lion waits for them.

And where Trigel is, to their horror.

They slide to a halt, and Trigel tilts her head. The Altean soldiers on her sides raise their weapons.

“I would give up if I were you,” Trigel says.

Pidge, Matt, and Lance exchange looks.

“How about no?” Matt says.

Lance opens fire on Trigel and the Alteans, covering Matt and Pidge as they turn on their heels and run in the other direction. Lance follows seconds later, his shield raised behind him.

“Take the left!” Lance yells.

“Got it!” Pidge exchanges a smile with Matt as they round the right corner, Lance hot on their heels. The Alteans and Trigel fall a few steps behind in their hurry to scramble after them.

It was one of the things they’d agreed upon while they had made their way to the station: a pattern to when left and right meant the opposite, just to throw any possible enemies off, even if it’s just a little.

By some miracle, they make it to the ship and the Green Lion. As soon as she’s in the Lion, Pidge blasts the whole wall of the ship off, seeing no need for subtlety anymore. She covers the ship’s escape before flying after it, moving as fast as she can. They need to get away from the station before the Alteans launch their pursuit.

They need to —

The Green Lion comes to a halt, like she’d run to an invisible barrier. Pidge flies forward, almost crashing to the floor.

“What the hell?”

“Pidge?” Matt’s concerned voice comes over the comms, but Pidge ignores it.

The Lion won’t move. Why won’t she move?

“Katie?” Matt sounds scared now, and Pidge grits her teeth.

“I can’t move,” Pidge says, trying her best not to sound worried.

“What?” Lance sounds just as worried as Matt had. “Like... can’t move because the Lion broke or can’t move because something’s holding you in place?”

Pidge doesn’t need to ask what Lance means, they’re both thinking about it: Trigel is taking control of the Green Lion like Alfor had done to the Red Lion in the other universe.

Like Zarkon had done to the Black Lion.

“Pidge, get out of there now,” Lance orders.

“No! I’m not leaving my Lion. I won’t do it.” Pidge scrunches her eyes close and focuses on the Green Lion, on getting her to move, to pay attention to _her_ , not Trigel.

But the Green Lion won’t respond to her, and the more Pidge tries, the more oppressive Trigel’s presence grows.

“Katie, get out of there!”

Pidge’s eyes burn, the force the Lion is pushing her out with growing too much, but she refuses to move. She can’t.

How could she let Trigel have the Green Lion? But the Lion assures Pidge everything will be fine even if Pidge leaves, and though Pidge tries to tell her she’s not going anywhere, there’s a sadness to the Lion that shouldn’t be there.

The alarm blaring once is the only warning Pidge gets before the Lion vents all air and Pidge along with it out. She yells as she’s shot into space, spiraling away from the Green Lion. Pidge glimpses sight of her bag, and Matt and Lance are yelling over each other in her ear.

Pidge cuts the comms off and straightens herself out, and aims for her belongings and the Lion. She grabs her bag, using the thrusters in her armor to navigate through the space. Pidge curses when she sees Trigel flying faster than anyone has any right to towards the Lion, and pushes herself to go just that bit faster.

Trigel reaches the Green Lion first, and Pidge screams. Trigel can’t have the Lion. She can’t.

It’s not right.

It’s not fair.

Pidge hurries towards the Lion, her bag hanging over her shoulder, her bayard in her hand. She’ll just have to forcibly remove Trigel.

Something grabs Pidge’s leg, stopping her, and when she turns around, ready to swing her bayard at whatever is keeping her back, she comes face to face with Lance.

“You can’t do anything,” Lance says, his eyes wide — scared. “We have to go. We’ll get the Lion back, but not now.”

Pidge shakes her head. “I can’t leave her!”

“Yes you can,” Lance says as he hauls Pidge back towards the ship that’s suddenly closer than Pidge remembered it being.

Pidge fights and screams, trying to call the Lion back to her and kicking Lance at the same time.

She can’t leave.

Lance pulls Pidge into the ship and Matt flies them away from the facility and the Green Lion, and there’s nothing Pidge can do to stop it. She still scrambles to her feet, fighting Lance off of her before running to Matt, throwing her helmet on the ground as she goes.

“Turn this ship around! _Now_!”

“No,” Matt replies, his voice resolute.

“We can’t leave my Lion! We can’t just —“

Lance wraps his arms around Pidge and pulls her into a tight hug. “I know it hurts,” he whispers into her ear. “I’m sorry.”

Unable to do anything else, Pidge beats her fists against Lance’s armor. “We can’t leave her!”

Lance only nestles her face in the crook of his neck. “We’ll get her back, don’t worry, but you have to understand: we have just this ship, Trigel has a dozen. We weren’t going to win that fight. We’ll get the Lion back at a later time, just like we’ll get Red back as well, okay?”

Pidge shakes her head, unable to speak from the sobs escaping her throat, making it impossible for her to breathe.

After a moment Lance sits on the floor, pulling Pidge down with him, holding her while she cries, assuring her they’ll get the Green Lion back the whole way back to the base.

 

* * *

 

The night they lose the Green Lion is hard on everyone, as they had relied on having two working Lions on their side. But now... it’s bad for morale, to say the least.

Shiro and Lotor don’t decide to get drunk, exactly, but they end up sitting on the floor of Shiro’s room, sharing the bottle of liquor between them, filling each others glasses.

They don’t talk.

There’s not really anything to talk about.

As time passes, Shiro leans his head on Lotor’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of whatever Lotor puts in his hair — it makes Shiro think of the breeze of a desert morning — and Lotor doesn’t push him away.

After a moment Lotor tilts his head down, his gaze far away, lost in thought. There’s a flush on his cheeks, and Shiro thinks it looks nice on him.

Shiro wonders...

No. No he doesn’t.

“Hand me the bottle?” Shiro extends his hand, and Lotor gives him the bottle. Shiro straightens up and fills his glass again, and pointedly doesn’t think of the way Lotor’s hair falls around his face.

 

* * *

 

Haala throws his pad on his bed, his ears flat against his head as Thace closes the door behind them.

It’s a big room — or as big as the rooms in the base come. Whoever designed the base did a shit job at it, in Haala’s opinion; there are too many corridors and doors and small rooms to hide in, so by all logic it should be easy for Haala to not see the people he doesn’t want to see. And yet it’s impossible. So the designer clearly did a shit job with the base.

And this particular room is Haala’s. Strictly speaking his and Marzila’s.

Not Thace’s.

“Get out,” Haala growls.

“No,” Thace replies in that annoying uncle voice he uses whenever he thinks Haala is being unreasonable. “We need to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“Yes, we do. We have to if we want to get through this war alive. I know you are angry at me for being a member of the Blade, but this is not the time nor the place to let that anger take over. You’re putting everyone in danger.”

Haala swirls around. “I’m putting everyone in danger? You’re the one who’s been lying about everything forever! You’re the one no one can trust!”

Thace does an exceptional job at looking like a sympathetic parent. “I know you feel like I can’t be trusted and I don’t blame you, but this is not about that; this is about your attitude making it impossible for us to work together. And we do need to work together.”

Haala pulls a face, even if it makes him seem childish. “Don’t give me that.”

Thace tilts his head, and Haala takes the opportunity to go to his drawer and pull out a clean set of clothes. If he goes into the shower, Thace will leave him alone. Thace won’t follow him there.

Hopefully.

By the stars he better not follow him there.

“I know this is difficult to you.“

“You’re difficult,” Haala snaps. “You should be in a cell.”

“The Emperor requested I look after Keith —“

“And what an amazing job you did at that.” Haala turns around, baring his teeth. It doesn’t make Thace back down like Haala hoped. “It was your job to look after him, and you failed! You _lost_ him! And the Emperor. That was _your_ fault.”

“I know,” Thace says, and it doesn’t help at all.

“You should’ve been the one to disappear,” Haala says, his voice quieter than he intended, but if he says it too loud...

“I know,” Thace says again.

Haala wants to yell at Thace, but he’s not sure what about. So he throws his coat across the room. The soft thud it hits the floor with does nothing ease the sense he’s going to blow up at all.

After a moment, Thace bridges the distance between them and pulls Haala into his arms. Haala fights him, but Thace refuses to let go, and not for the first time Haala wishes he spent less time figuring machines out and more time training to fight, as if that is the missing piece that would allow him to push Thace off.

“I know this is hard for you,” Thace says, and Haala shakes his head, not wanting to hear any of it. “But I promise you I never wanted to hurt you. I would never willingly leave you — and neither did Keith. Or your mother.”

Of course Thace can’t let that one go. Of course he has to bring that up. Why does everyone have to assume something that happened so long ago still matters to Haala? He _has_ a mother, biological connection or not, and he’s happy with the family he has.

“And I know I can’t get your mother back, but I’ll find a way to get Keith back, alright? I will fix this.”

“I hate you,” Haala mutters into Thace’s shoulder, and flattens his ears for good measure.

Thace chuckles. “We all know that’s Haala for ‘I love you’. We all love you for your attitude.”

“I don’t have an attitude,” Haala grumbles.

“You had an attitude even before you were born,” Thace replies, and after a moment he adds, “are you still mad?” Thace asks.

“Obviously,” Haala mutters.

Thace inclines his head. “So tell me, how long until I can start planning your and Marzila’s announcement celebration.”

Haala groans. “We’re not going to mate in the middle of a war.”

“Well, you’ll be waiting a long time for it to end, and I have gifts to give you.”

“No.”

“Do you still want my house in Vadazi? I was thinking about moving to a smaller home.”

“ _No_.”

“Or if you need help with your future children, I can stay and take care of them. I doubt I will have a job to return to.”

“No!”

Thace laughs and nuzzles the side of Haala’s face for a moment, and Haala grumbles. Even as he holds onto Thace’s coat a little tighter.

 

* * *

 

The loss of the Green Lion affects everyone, not just Pidge. The morale of their little band of people drops at the fact that they’re down to one Lion, while Alfor has three. It doesn’t help that they’re constantly fearing Gyrgan taking over the Yellow Lion now.

“It’s the quintessence,” Blaytz says in one meeting. “They got the quintessence from Zarkon’s druids, and they’re amplifying their connections to the Lions with that.”

Pidge still looks grim, her sadness hanging over the table like a shadow, but Hunk hopes she takes some comfort in the knowledge that Trigel had cheated the Lion from her. He’ll definitely tell himself that if (when) Gyrgan takes the Yellow Lion; he’ll have to if he wants to move past it. If it happens.

(when it happens)

“What is he going to do with the quintessence?” Sallo asks, arranging her arm on the table, mindful of the cast on it. “Why should we care he has quintessence? The Galra druids have been using quintessence for millennia.”

“Because this is pure quintessence from the rift,” Lotor replies before Blaytz can even open his mouth. “It is different from the quintessence the druids use — and the druids are not Galra.”

“They’re not?” Hunk’s eyes dart around the table. “What are they, then?”

“That is irrelevant,” Lotor replies, his tone making it clear the topic is closed.

Lance clears his throat. “We’ve already agreed that Alfor having that quintessence is bad, but he still got it. So what do we do now?”

“We wait,” Blaytz says, somehow managing to still be calm. “And discreetly find more people who want to join our cause. There’s no point in getting on Alfor’s radar while we can’t do anything to him, better we strengthen our ranks and gather information, and strike when we’re ready.”

“That’s a good plan,” Marzila agrees.

“So we’re just leaving my Lion with Trigel?” Pidge huffs. “Great.”

“There’s nothing we can do about the Lions right now,” Shiro says, his eyes downcast. “We’ll get them all back, but we need a plan to do that, and we need resources. We can’t just storm the Castleship.”

Coran shifts. “Allura is in there. I would like to believe she has seen Alfor cannot be trusted, and is ready to help us.”

Blaytz looks skeptical. “You do realize the likely reason she didn’t see something was wrong earlier is that Alfor is influencing her the same way he does with Trigel and Gyrgan?”

Coran shakes his head, but he doesn’t reply.

None of them do. They don’t want to think about stuff like that, not now.

Hunk frowns at the table and wishes, however briefly, that he had never come to space in the first place.

 

* * *

 

Kolivan joins the Paladins — or former Paladins, Shiro thinks — with Tral, Antok, Rejya, and a few others. Too few others.

He tells everyone that the Alteans had attacked them, and that people from inside the Blade had helped them.

It’s the first night Shiro opts to have his drink with someone other than Lotor, but Kolivan looks like he could use the drink and Lotor has work to do. Thace joins them later in the evening, offering Kolivan his silent support.

 

* * *

 

The second time Shiro and Lotor set out to get drunk rather than just getting a few drinks together is when Alfor’s forces burn down a Galra settlement.

The settlement Shiro and the others couldn’t save. The Galra with them had been especially affected. The settlement had... they hadn’t made it it there in time to protect it, but they had made it there right in time to see the destruction. The thing that gets most to the former Rebellion members and the Paladins are the non-Galran bodies scattered around — and those are the majority. The Galra with them screech and rage at the deaths of their people, and Shiro almost feels sorry for the Alteans, just for a second.

Somehow Lotor reigns his people in before they can go and wreak havoc on the Alteans, but he tells Shiro they’ll have to give the Galra a target soon; they need their revenge, and Shiro is more than happy to oblige.

“I’m sorry about the settlement,” Shiro offers as he moves from walking around the room — Lotor’s this time, and he’s got a lot more books lying around these days — to sitting on the edge of the small table Lotor is seated by.

Lotor looks up to him, frowning. “That doesn’t help.”

“What do you want, to bottle it all up? Someone to maul to death?” Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Cuddles? I hear Hunk’s really great at that.”

Lotor stares at Shiro in deadly silence for a moment, his eyes not quite as sharp as they usually are, and that faint flush Shiro definitely doesn’t like coloring his cheeks.

Lotor looks away first. “I do not need your pity.”

“I’m not pitying you,” Shiro points out. “I’m trying to be sympathetic.”

“Don’t — do not bother.”

Shiro frowns. “I’m sorry?”

Lotor stands, downing the last of his drink as he does so. He sets the glass down with a hard clink. “I do not want your sympathy. It only makes _you_ feel better. It only serves _you._ If you want to feel better, go be with your rebel friends.”

With that, he throws one last glare at Shiro, his ears flattening, and walks to the nearest pile of books. Shiro should get Lotor some shelves, it’s not good for the books to be kept on the floor.

“I don’t want to talk to them,” Shiro says quietly, more to himself than to Lotor. He sighs, and hops off the table. “Look, I didn’t mean to... I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Don’t.”

Shiro scowls, even if Lotor doesn’t see it. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Lotor turns around. “I am not the one forcing unwanted platitudes on someone.”

Shiro stares at Lotor, trying to keep himself from swaying as the alcohol makes the room tilt slightly to the left. “You’re my friend. I’m trying to be nice.”

Lotor scoffs and takes a slightly unsteady step towards Shiro. “Since when are we friends?”

Shiro’s eyes widen. Since when have they _not_ been friends? Yes, they had a rocky start, what with Lotor breaking his arm and all, but... Shiro had thought they’d moved past that. “Excuse me?” Maybe not the best thing Shiro could be saying, but it’s what comes out of his mouth.

“Would I even be here if you didn’t... did not find my help beneficial?” Lotor asks, his expression hurt. “Would you or your people allow me to stay if it weren’t for that?”

“Of course we would!” Shiro throws his arms in the air and takes a stumbling step forward. “You needed a place to stay, and I wanted you to stay here.”

Lotor’s eyes widen, and he stares at Shiro for a long moment. “You’re stupid.”

Shiro laughs. “What?”

“You are stupid if you think I am going to believe that.”

It takes a moment for Shiro to process Lotor’s words. “You just lost your father and your mother is a psycho. You needed a place to stay and you’re... well...”

“I’m what?”

Shiro bites his tongue. He’s not even sure what he was about to say.

“And my mother is dead,” Lotor adds, something like a pout threatening to take over his expression. And it’s endearing enough to make Shiro laugh quietly.

Anger flashes in Lotor’s eyes, and before Shiro’s mind catches up with what’s happening, Lotor has bridged the distance between them and he’s shoving Shiro, almost sending him sprawling on the floor — and somehow he manages to make it one of the most threatening things Shiro has experienced in a while.

“It’s not — I just...” Shiro doesn’t know what he wants to say. Even if his thoughts aren’t as clear as they usually are, he still doubts telling Lotor he’s kind of cute when he tries not to pout would go over well.

There would be claws involved. Claws on Shiro’s face.

“You just what?” Lotor takes a step closer to Shiro, and Shiro backs up. “You just think it is amusing I have no mother?” He takes another step towards Shiro, and Shiro takes one back again. “That, with Father gone, I am an orphan?” He moves closer to Shiro, and Shiro moves away. “That with my father gone, I cannot go near my people because the only reason they have not killed me by now is that they feared Father retaliating?”

Shiro’s back hits the wall, and Lotor crowds him. “You think it’s amusing I have lost everything because _you_ did not think it pertinent to be cautious of someone simply because they said they could help you destroy our Empire and murder my people? Because they looked like someone you’re told is supposed to be a certain kind of person by people who would never tell you otherwise?”

“Hey!” Shiro pokes Lotor’s chest. “You’re not the only one who lost something! Do you have any idea how much the Black Lion meant to me? Do you know what it’s like to have someone accept me even after all the bullshit _your_ people put me through? How much the bond we shared meant to me?”

Lotor opens his mouth, but Shiro pokes him again. “And Keith? That was my best friend! He was the most important person in my life, and he’s gone, because _your_ asshole parents couldn’t not do the most insane thing they could do in that moment! He was my everything, and he’s _gone_.” Shiro’s voice breaks, but somehow he manages to not look away from Lotor. “He’s gone.”

The anger, though still shimmering in Lotor’s eyes, has lost its edge, and Lotor shifts.

Shiro’s anger vanishes as Lotor’s dissipates, and he slumps against the wall, exhausted and not drunk enough all of the sudden. “I lost him a long time ago, though, didn’t I? Zarkon was never gonna give him back to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Lotor says so quietly Shiro barely hears it.

Shiro shakes his head. “Keith was happy to go back to him and I — I just miss him.”

The last of the anger leaves Lotor’s eyes. After a moment, he leans towards Shiro and presses his forehead against Shiro’s, resting there and closing his eyes. Shiro sniffles and closes his eyes as well, not liking the slight burning of them.

He should’ve had more to drink, this would be easier is he was genuinely, overly drunk.

After a few long seconds, Shiro places his hands on Lotor’s hips, just because he can. It takes Lotor a while to move, but eventually he grabs a hold of the front of Shiro’s shirt, and Shiro feels his brow furrow slightly.

Maybe it’s the alcohol making it seem like a good idea, Shiro isn’t sure, but he tilts his head and brushes his lips against Lotor’s, hesitant and expecting to be pushed away or possibly a maiming. And Lotor does start and leans away from Shiro, even though he keeps a hold of Shiro’s shirt.

Shiro opens his eyes, only to find Lotor staring at him with too wide eyes. He looks lost. Shiro grips his hips a little tighter, to anchor himself, to keep Lotor still, he’s not sure. Maybe it’s both.

Maybe he just needs to feel like he’s not the only person in the universe. Maybe they both do.

Lotor inclines his head minutely, and Shiro isn’t sure if it’s because he said something and Lotor is agreeing, or because Lotor just reached an agreement in a private argument with himself, but it doesn’t matter; Lotor bumps his forehead against Shiro’s again, then he nuzzles his cheek almost cautiously, and nips at Shiro’s jaw.

Oh. Right. The Galra don’t do kissing unless it’s their mate or something. Shiro almost laughs again. Of course he forgets important cultural differences he shouldn’t forget. He still tilts his head to give Lotor a better access to his neck, since that’s what Lotor seems to want.

And Shiro doesn’t mind. He definitely doesn’t mind it when Lotor shifts, bringing them closer to each other until Lotor’s fist still clutching Shiro’s shirt is the only thing keeping them from being pressed against each other, and gently bites the pulse point on Shiro’s neck.

No, Shiro doesn’t mind at all.

Shiro moves his hand to Lotor’s shoulder, and when he meets no complaints, he buries it in Lotor’s hair. It’s just as silky as Shiro thought it would be.

Lotor rests his head on Shiro’s shoulder, and Shiro holds him there, enjoying the warmth of another person so close to him again. But after a while, it’s not enough. So Shiro thinks, trying to remember all the things Keith had told him about the Galra, not wanting to do  the wrong thing.

He settles on gently nipping the tip of Lotor’s ear. Lotor gasps softly, his ear flicking, and Shiro grins before nipping it again. Lotor’s hold on his shirt tightens briefly before he lets go and wraps his arms around Shiro, pressing their chests together, his claws digging into the muscles of Shiro’s back almost painfully.

Shiro bites the spot below Lotor’s ear in response.

He should flip them around. Lotor ought to be the one pressed against the wall, not Shiro. That would —

Lotor lifts Shiro off the ground before Shiro can even finish the thought. Shiro’s eyes fly open, a surprised gasp escaping his lips as he scrambles to grab a hold of Lotor’s shoulders, his legs wrapping around Lotor’s waist without his say so. And Lotor smiles at him, just for a moment, before he licks Shiro’s neck.

And okay, Shiro doesn’t think he’s ever been lifted off the ground and pressed against a wall before — he’s never even really fantasized about it — but it gets him hard faster than he ever imagined it would. And Lotor knows it. Lotor with his stupid Galran strength (or Altean strength, wherever it comes from) and silky hair and sharp teeth that he’s all too keen to bite Shiro with.

With a soft groan, Shiro tilts his head back until it thuds against the wall, making his brain slosh in his skull and the world tilt dangerously. But it also gets Lotor to shift (and Shiro’s cock likes that very much) and give Shiro’s neck more attention.

When Lotor moves from Shiro’s neck to mouth at his jaw, Shiro tilts his head towards him, hoping to catch a kiss even though he knows he won’t. But the shiver of anticipation when their noses bump together — when their breaths mix and their eyes flicker to each others lips — is its own kind of thrill.

Shiro wants to ask about the kissing. About what they are doing. Are they doing this? Are they doing this because they’ve been drinking? Would they even be doing this if they were sober? Shiro would like to think they would, but thinking someone is attractive and jumping into bed with them are quite different things, and that’s assuming Lotor feels the same way as Shiro does.

Lotor pulls Shiro from the wall, moving his left hand to support Shiro’s back, and carries him to the bed. He drops Shiro there, and Shiro gasps as he bounces on the bed. He’s never been thrown on a bed before.

Before Shiro can decide whether he likes the manhandling or not, Lotor is on top of him, tearing Shiro’s clothes off. Shiro would help if he could, but he’s fumbling just to kick his boots off; he’s not sure he could manage something as complex as a shirt.

But Lotor manages it somehow, along with Shiro’s other boot and his pants. Maybe alcohol gives Galra super speed.

When Shiro is naked and splayed on the bed, Lotor — still dressed in his armor, which is completely unfair in Shiro’s opinion — stops to study him. Lotor leans on his heels, his gaze drinking Shiro up, and Shiro flushes. He’s not used to being studied the way he’s being studied — like he’s something new and exciting. Though perhaps to Lotor who has never seen a naked human before, he is.

Shiro wants to tell Lotor to take his armor off, but he doesn’t know how. What if speaking will destroy whatever is going on? Shiro is still pondering on it when Lotor leans down and drags his too sharp teeth along Shiro’s collarbone. Shiro sighs and lets his head thump against the bed.

Instead of talking, Shiro tugs at Lotor’s armor, fumbling with the seams to get the damn thing off. Of course he has no success, but Lotor sits up again and takes off the top of his armor for him.

Shiro doesn’t wait for Lotor to get back down to him; he sits up and runs his fingers down Lotor’s chest, wondering about the faint scar there — it has been properly treated unlike Shiro’s scars — but not daring to ask.

Lotor allows Shiro to study his skin, to take his time getting familiar with the heat of Lotor’s body, with the way he shivers when Shiro drags his nails down his sides. The way Lotor draws in a quiet, sharp breath when Shiro bites his chest and the way he leans into Shiro when Shiro grabs his sides and pulls him closer.

While Lotor leans down to nibble Shiro’s ear, Shiro wraps his hands around Lotor, frowning when his fingers brush against... something. Determined to find out what, Shiro shifts and looks around Lotor’s side, getting a soft laugh out of Lotor as he does so.

The something turns out to be... Shiro doesn’t know what. An exoskeleton? Turtle shell? Scales? Plating? Whatever it actually is, Shiro runs his hand gently up Lotor’s strangely raised spine, and the velvety plating (or whatever it is ) bends under Shiro’s touch, but not much. Just enough to be comfortable, Shiro imagines; Lotor won’t have a problem putting an armor on or lying flat on his back. And Shiro would like to see Lotor lying on his back. The scales (Shiro decides they’re close enough to be called scales) traveling from the raised vertebra like spine, across Lotor’s shoulder blades are also covered in soft velvet, and Shiro spends a moment just trailing his fingers across them.

Shiro wants to ask about it, but he doesn’t dare to break the silence. He straightens up instead, and meets Lotor’s eyes. They stare at each other, both of them flushed, both of them breathing heavier than usual.

Both of them a little too drunk and unsure of what they’re about to do.

Without warning, Lotor pushes Shiro back down and bumps his nose against Shiro’s before standing and walking away. Shiro frowns and pushes himself up to his elbows, watching Lotor remove a stack of books from atop of a box. He brings the box to the bed, and Shiro raises an eyebrow at the sight of it. It’s a small medical kit, and it takes Shiro a moment to realize Lotor didn’t get it because one of them is hurt.

Shiro almost laughs. They’re really going to do this.

To prove Shiro right, Lotor pulls two small jars from the med-kit before pushing Shiro back down on the bed, and nibbles Shiro’s shoulder, the material of his armor cool as it presses against Shiro’s achingly hard cock. Then he straightens up again and starts kicking his boots off. Shiro takes the opportunity to open the jars.

The first one has thick, transparent gel in it, and Shiro has no idea what Lotor might need it for. Maybe it’s a Galra thing Shiro will be made privy to soon. The second jar has oil in it, and Shiro knows what to do with that. So Shiro uses common sense and his knowledge of Lotor as a person, dips his fingers in the oil, and — after giving his own erection a tug — starts prepping himself. He goes slow, unused to the intrusion even if he’s not unfamiliar with it.

After stripping the rest of his armor off, Lotor returns his attention back to Shiro, stilling when he sees Shiro spread on the bed, slowly working a finger into himself. Lotor tilts his head slowly, watching Shiro intently, and it alleviates the last discomfort Shiro had about letting Lotor take him. How could he not want this to happen when Lotor is looking at him like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen?

Shiro cups Lotor’s cheek with his prosthetic hand, brushing his thumb across Lotor’s lips (and Shiro wants to kiss him so bad), groaning when Lotor takes his thumb into his mouth and bites it.

Lotor keeps sucking Shiro’s thumb as he reaches for the jar with the gel in it, opens the lid, and dips his fingers in the gel. He haphazardly screws the lid back on before letting go of Shiro’s thumb and pressing his forehead against Shiro’s his eyes closed, his brow furrowed minutely.

After a moment, Lotor shifts and pushes his own finger into Shiro.

Shiro hisses, the stretch too much and too soon. He has barely had a moment to adjust to the stretch when Lotor adds a second finger, pushing himself up after giving Shiro’s neck a gentle bite. Moments later Lotor lifts Shiro’s leg, his gaze flickering from Shiro’s face to their fingers working Shiro open, then back to his face.

When Lotor’s fingers find that bundle of nerves that make Shiro cry out and jolt, Shiro wonders why he doesn’t do this more often.

And Lotor doesn’t miss it either. He keeps rubbing that one spot, watching Shiro intently, and Shiro can only focus on the pleasure shooting through his body. He pulls his finger free, moaning when Lotor replaces it with his own, and takes his cock in his hand instead, chasing his orgasm.

He’s so close, he’s so painfully close, and Lotor has to go and pull his fingers out and grab Shiro’s wrist and wrench his hand from his cock. Shiro curses under his breath, but he gets no further since Lotor flips him over with ease that shocks Shiro enough for him to not tense in anticipation when Lotor arranges Shiro so that he’s on his hands and knees, with Lotor between his legs.

When Lotor enters Shiro, it’s not entirely gentle, and his claws dig into Shiro’s hips. Shiro grunts, biting back a curse. It’s too fast and too hard, and when Lotor stays still a second too long, Shiro pushes against him, urging him to move.

And Lotor does.

There’s nothing gentle about it, but Shiro’s fine with it; he meets Lotor’s thrusts, their movements erratic, lacking rhythm.

Lotor lets out a soft noise and buries his face in Shiro’s neck, occasionally mouthing Shiro’s skin sloppily, almost absently. Shiro leans down on his elbows, taking his cock in his hand, and buries his face in the covers. Lotor bites his neck in response, thrusting into Shiro harder, and Shiro curses.

It doesn’t take long for Shiro to come, and he slumps on the bed, panting, his head swimming, the world tilting this way and that. He doesn’t bother trying to help Lotor get off. And it doesn’t take long for Lotor to do just that; he sinks his teeth into Shiro’s shoulder, biting him hard enough to break skin, and comes inside Shiro.

Shiro’s cock twitches, and Shiro halfheartedly clenches around Lotor, even if he feels too full already.

Lotor pants against Shiro’s shoulder, slowly releasing Shiro’s hips from his grip (there are going to be bruises in the morning, Shiro knows it) and, after catching his breath he pulls away and slumps on the bed by Shiro’s side, leaving Shiro uncomfortably empty.

Shiro lies down and turns to face Lotor who has buried his face in the covers, his hair falling around his head, and Shiro brushes his fingers through the white strands. Then he shifts and runs his hand up Lotor’s spine.

Lotor turns his head to face Shiro, brushing the hair from his face. “I get it from my father’s side.”

It takes Shiro a moment to realize Lotor is talking about his back.

Shiro’s hand stills between Lotor’s shoulder blades, and he studies Lotor for a long moment. “I’m sorry about your father.”

Lotor blinks, his eyes a little too bright. “I am sorry about your friend.”

Shiro nods. “We should get cleaned up.”

“In a moment.” Lotor moves to rest his head on a pillow, and Shiro goes with him, slumping by Lotor’s side. “We will have to go to the bathroom across the hallway.”

Shiro groans. “I might throw up if I get up right now. Can’t you find something that doesn’t hit me out of the blue so hard?”

“Not in my room, and if you vomit in the hallway, you are cleaning it up. And you are free to get your own alcohol.”

“Thanks for the care,” Shiro mumbles as he closes his eyes. “Can we just rest for a bit first? I’m not up to putting clothes on just yet, and it can’t be so late that there’s no one walking around anymore.”

“Rest sounds good,” Lotor replies with a deep sigh.

Shiro falls asleep, barely aware of the stickiness between his legs.

When he wakes up he feels like he’s about to die. His mouth is dry, his head pounds, and his body aches. Damn Galran liquor, always getting him when he least expects it, even when he doesn’t even drink that much.

Shiro groans quietly and pushes himself to his elbows, blinking at his strange surroundings. It takes him a moment too long to remember what happened before he fell asleep, and he groans again. Lotor is sound asleep by his side and Shiro is half tempted to go back to sleep himself, but he needs water, and he needs to get rid of the dried cum between his legs.

So Shiro slides off the bed as quietly and cautiously as he can, stumbling once he’s on his feet. The darkness of the room is new, but there’s enough light coming from the window for Shiro to locate his shirt, pants and one of his shoes. If he wasn’t worried about waking Lotor up he’d search for the rest of his belongings as well, but as it is he just wants to get out of there and into the nearest bathroom.

He can always get his things later.

Shiro sneaks through the door a few moments later, closing it behind him as quietly as he can before tiptoeing into the bathroom, locking the door behind him, and hurrying to the toilet and throwing up.

 

* * *

 

The bottom of the lake is more lively than most would expect. There is a whole ecosystem there; fish and crabs and plants and a whole lot of other things living in perfect harmony with no care of the horrors that go on above the surface.

Blaytz could stay there forever.

A beautiful fish with sparkling red scales swims past him, and Blaytz watches it go. When the fish returns to swim past him again, he snatches it, his movements faster in the water than they could ever be on land, and bites the fish’s head off. It’s almost lunchtime anyways, and as much as Blaytz appreciates Hunk cooking from them all there’s a limit to how much cooked land food Blaytz is willing to put into his mouth.

Blood floats in the water, drawing in more fish, and Blaytz lets them observe him, to snatch the flecks of meat and scales that the water claims back from him.

The frail bones of the fish crunch in Blaytz’s mouth like the bones of fish always do, familiar and never changing.

Comforting.

Blaytz should return to the surface soon. He is supposed to help Shiro make more sense of Alfor’s plans — not that there’s anything new Blaytz can tell him. These humans... they are interesting, but they are young and too inexperienced, and Blaytz would much rather have Zarkon there to take care of the planning and tactics. Zarkon could take care of Alfor on his own much easier than their current gang of misfits.

They are so ill equipped to fight Alfor. They had even lost the Green Lion. Not to mention Shiro and Lotor pretending they’re not avoiding each other lately, making it harder for them all to properly plan their next move.

Blaytz snatches another fish swimming by him and smiles ruefully at it as it tries in vain to escape his grip.

Of course Blaytz has gotten stuck with two kids panicking over having sex and thinking no one has noticed. Well, maybe no one else has, but Blaytz is old and he hasn’t survived for so long by being ignorant. A few of the Galra must have at least smelled the sex and alcohol clinging to the two of them, but they would never say anything about it, not when it’s their Prince involved in the situation.

But if Shiro and Lotor don’t get it sorted out soon, they’ll all be in a lot of trouble. Perhaps Blaytz should put Coran on it; he seems to have adapted the role of a parent of sorts, keeping peace among the people and making sure everyone is alright.

Blaytz scans the fish around him, wanting one more snack before he has to resurface. As he sees none close enough to him — they got wise and started avoiding him — Blaytz pushes himself off the lake floor, moving slowly through the water. Hunting.

He darts at the eel he spots, swift and precise in his movements as he grabs it and bites its head off.

Maybe Blaytz should make a few suggestions on what they could do in their next meeting after all.

 

* * *

 

“We are ready when you are,” Galvak says over the comms.

“Great,” Hunk replies. “You did great.”

“We are aware,” Tayla says. “We wouldn’t hand you poor work.”

Lance and Hunk share a look. Obviously they wouldn’t hand them something that wouldn’t work. If there’s one thing Hunk has learned, it’s that the two Galra are extremely proud of their work. Add Haala to the mix and there’s no way Hunk was going to receive anything less than perfection.

“You guys should let us in on your work,” Hunk says. “I’d love to see how you put this together.”

“It’s classified,” Galvak says.

“But —”

“Until the Prince says otherwise, it is classified,” Tayla pipes in.

Lance rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the wall. He’s been keeping Hunk company while Hunk checks the few Rebellion ships at their disposal. Hunk would’ve liked to have Haala help him, but the Rebels hadn’t been comfortable with a Galra poking around their ships. Haala had grumbled and taken over checking the Galran ships, muttering something about knowing more about them than Hunk anyways.

“We’ll finish up here and come back in soon, okay?” Hunk looks up from the console.

“We will be waiting,” Galvak replies.

Lance closes the commline for Hunk. “What do you think?”

Hunk returns his attention to the console. “I think we’re idiots if we’re actually going to go breaking into a druid base in this situation.”

“We need the data they have,” Lance reminds him.

Hunk adds the last bits of coding into ship’s systems. “Lotor sent people into the Empire, right? Can’t they check the druids’ research?”

Lance doesn’t reply.

Hunk frowns and focuses on getting the last ship checked before turning his attention to testing the new defense grid their Galran allies had created.

 

* * *

 

Lotor ends the call with Acxa and Zethrid, happy to hear they had picked Gailek up like they were supposed to.

Ezor is already at the door, saying something about laundry, though Lotor suspects she merely wishes to talk to Zethrid in private. Narti tilts her head as Ezor hurries out of the room.

“She is trying to be discreet,” Lotor replies to the unasked question.

Narti turns to him, and Lotor raises an eyebrow. Narti keeps her attention on Lotor while he focuses on his pad.

They sit there in companionable silence, Lotor working, Narti petting Kova absently. Of course it doesn’t last long; Shiro bursts through the doors to the sitting room Lotor and his generals had claimed for the Galra.

“Hi, um...” Shiro rubs his neck. “I was just... I’ve got news.”

“Oh, well.” Lotor offers, almost tossing his pad on the table in his hurry to straighten his clothes. “Go on.”

Narti stands and heads to the door. As she approaches, Shiro steps aside, his gaze flickering across the room. Narti turns when she’s by the door, behind Shiro’s back, and signs _‘you are worse than Ezor’_ quickly before striding out of the room. Lotor is half tempted to hurry after her and tell her exactly how wrong she is, but he decides he can save it for later.

Shiro shifts, not quite meeting Lotor’s eyes. “So you know how we sent a team to find out if the druids had any info on the rift quintessence? So that we could try to figure out what Alfor uses it for?”

Of course Lotor knows, he had been in the meeting the decision to look for the information was made, after all.

“Well, the team ran into some trouble, but they got help. And now we’ve got druids on our side — three of them, to be exact. Apparently Haggar has disappeared and the druids are either continuing their work and ignoring the state of the universe, or picking sides with the warlords and commanders. Some have gone home. The ones our team ran into were looking for us. They’ve got Kiira with them and we’re debriefing in a varga, so...” Shiro shifts.

Lotor does the same.

It is the first time they have been alone in the same room for such a long period of time since... well. If Lotor would have known how Shiro would react, he would have done his best to follow his better judgment.

“That is... fortunate. The druids are a valuable ally; there is a reason Father has kept them close by for so long, and it has little to do with them being Haggar’s followers.”

Shiro nods and turns towards the door. He stops before he can step through it, and turns around again, his expression uncomfortable yet determined. “Look, about the other night — or not the other night, but, you know. _That_ night?”

Lotor tenses. He does not want to talk about it. “Yes?”

Shiro taps the door frame. “I... we were drunk and not in a best place emotionally, and I don’t usually do that kind of thing, but... I think we needed it, and it wasn’t bad, right?”

“No,” Lotor agrees, albeit reluctantly. “It was not.”

And maybe they did need it. Lotor certainly felt a little better afterwards. But...

“You left.”

Shiro sighs and glances around the room, fisting and unfisting his hands as if he does not even realize he is doing it. “I had to throw up, and I needed a moment to think. Then you didn’t even acknowledge me in the morning and I didn’t know if I’d done something wrong or if you just wanted to pretend it never happened but...”

“I am Galra.”

“I’ve noticed.” Shiro quirks eyebrow, smiling at Lotor in a strangely soft way Lotor is not used to seeing directed at him.

Lotor narrows his eyes, trying not to smile himself. “What I mean is, it is not in our nature to view having sex as an issue. I know many races do not share our ease with the subject, so I gave you space as I assumed you had crossed some cultural line.”

Shiro laughs, his shoulders relaxing minutely. “Well, kinda. We don’t usually do what we did, exactly... not with those circumstances at least, but... it’s not like we think sex is some bad thing and we should never have it, but we’re still working towards being as relaxed as you people are with that stuff. I just... we were drunk, and I wasn’t sure how you’d react in the morning, and I was hungover and I didn’t want you to tell me you’d made some huge mistake or something while I threw up on your floor.”

Lotor relaxes as well. “I would not consider it a mistake.”

Shiro smiles and nods, and takes a step towards Lotor. Then another. He waves at the chair on Lotor’s left, a hopefully hesitant smile on his lips. “Can I?”

“Of course,” Lotor replies readily.

Shiro takes the seat, smiling at Lotor as he does so. They are silent for a moment, then Shiro clears his throat. “So. If you don’t have a problem with drunken sex...”

Lotor only smiles.

 

* * *

 

Whoever thought that having druids help on a critical mission was an idiot. Unless it was the Prince, in which case Marzila will apologize for thinking so and trust the Prince to not be wrong.

But whoever thought that sneaking into a highly guarded fortress by a steep cliff on a mountain to steal tactical information and tech was a good idea will receive a particularly personal combat training session from Marzila, complete with several broken bones and a crushed will to live. As long as it wasn’t the Prince. Obviously.

“It’s like old times, yes?” Galvak smiles at Marzila, who flattens her ears in response.

They had a professional team in the past, the best the military had to offer, in fact. But now? They have two druids, a tech assistant, a state traitor, a retired Hazhori officer, and the humans waiting for them are there strictly to save time in case they will be chased out of the base; better to have a ship ready to go in the air the tick everyone is on board, rather than have to wait for someone — most likely Galvak and Thace — to get the ship going. It’s a strategy they have utilized a lot recently, and Marzila thinks it’s a good idea, all things considered. It just puts them in a position of having to either not utilize the strategy or carefully selecting their teams, as the Rebellion members don’t want to trust the Galra — not that the Galra aren’t too keen to trust them either.

And Haala is there, of course, who Marzila is always happy to have by her side.

“I’m taking lead,” Marzila states.

No one argues.

Marzila squares her shoulders. “Alright. Galvak, Tayla, you’re on tech support; hang back unless you’re needed. Thace, you cover them. Kiira, Avok, you’re defense and scout; use your magic to swoosh ahead and make sure the coast is clear, and keep the Alteans from using their magic on us. I’m offense. Haala, stay close to me and be ready to do your thing.”

She gets nothing but agreements in return.

Marzila leads her team towards the Altean base — a fortress, really, no matter what the humans say. They have to move slowly, as they have to travel a treacherous path to the fortress base. Marzila would prefer to take the road there, but it’s too heavily guarded, and stealth and surprise are their friends.

It takes them a good varga to get to the base, and another ten dobashes for Haala, Galvak and Tayla to get them inside without being noticed. Kiira stays a step behind Marzila, while Avok zips ahead, ensuring their chosen route is safe while Tayla and Galvak take out the cameras on their way, and Marzila doesn’t hesitate to take down anyone who isn’t a part of their small group.

They manage to make it to the computers Galvak and Tayla had decided they need, and Haala does a quick work of opening the door. Thace and Marzila secure the room while Galvak, Tayla, and Haala get to work on the computers. Avok helps Galvak and Tayla find the information they need — apparently he has an extensive training in ancient languages such as Altean — while Kiira stays with Marzila and Thace.

Their team works silently and efficiently, and soon Galvak states they have what they came there for and that they can leave. Marzila leads her team out of the facility, still doing their best to stay hidden. The farther they get from the base without being seen, the better.

They round a corner and Marzila almost crashes into a Galra woman, mostly because she wasn’t expecting to run into one. Marzila stares at her, her staff raised, ready to strike, and she stares back, neither of them moving a muscle for a long tick.

“Marda?” Thace’s shocked voice stops Marzila from making the decision to strike the woman.

Marzila’s ears tilt back. “You know her?”

“She’s... she’s my sister.”

Marzila narrows her eyes and scrutinizes the woman before her. She’s wearing a strange leather jacket that was most likely bright red, once, but time has worn the color to a more muted shade. Her boots are the impractical kind that still use lacing; thick, dark, almost loose pants with an impractically heavy belt, and an under armor suit that’s old enough to fray at the edges under the coat. She’s got a large, bright red handbag flung over her shoulder, and a blaster on her hip.

She’s got Haala’s pale fur and Thace’s ears, but her eyes are strange; the right one is the same shade of yellow as Haala’s, deep and rich in their shade, but her left one has an unnatural pale purple tint to it.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Marzila lowers her staff slowly and glances over her shoulder at Thace. He looks shocked, but that’s understandable. Haala looks just as shocked, but there’s a lost look in his eyes as well and Marzila wants to run to him and hold him until he feels better again.

An Altean rounds a corner behind Marda, panting and disheveled. He’s not wearing armor, his clothes are just as odd as Marda’s, and he stares at Marzila and her group in stunned silence for a moment, pushing the heavy goggles off his face slowly.

“I assume you’re friendly,” the Altean says. “So can we all get moving and introduce ourselves when we’re not sneaking around an enemy base? Please?”

Marzila grabs Haala’s hand and pulls him along, grudgingly agreeing with the Altean.

“Are those druids?” The Altean asks as they fall in step.

“Yes. They’re going to do horrible things to you if you try anything weird,” Marzila replies. “Assuming I don’t beat them to it.”

The Altean inclines his head — an odd thing for him to do — and pulls his goggles back down before hurrying down the hallway.

Of course they run into a security patrol of five in that moment. Kiira and Avok light the hallway up with their magic, and Marzila uses it as a distraction to surprise the guards, two of which are already slumped against a wall. Marzila charges up her staff and drives it into the face of the nearest guard, elbows the next one in the throat, and then uses him as a shield as the third one shoots at her.

Thace shoots the third one before Marzila can get to her.

They don’t slow down.

The commotion must have drawn the attention of the other Alteans, and none of them want to be there when the rest of the guards come running. Marzila pulls Haala along as they run, out of the base and into the woods and the thick undergrowth there.

“Keep running!” The Altean orders when Marzila slows down, dashing past her with Marda in tow.

So Marzila runs, leading her team deeper into the woods.

When they finally do stop, Thace marches up to Marda and grabs her arm, looking ready to either yell at her or shake her, or hug her. “Where have you been? We thought you...”

“I was —”

“Cover your ears,” the Altean says, his eyes zeroed in on the base still peeking from behind the woods.

Before Marzila can ask him why, a loud boom shakes the ground and the sky around the base turns magenta.

The Altean frowns. “It’s still not teal.” He turns to Marda. “It’s further off now than it was before.”

“Who are you?” Haala snaps.

The Altean blinks, considering for a moment before glancing at Marda who inclines her head minutely. “Rinde,” he replies, his pose relaxing. He takes a step closer to Haala an extends his hand. “It’s nice to — whoa!”

Marzila almost hits Rinde with her staff, rather than just letting the electricity of it crackle too close to Rinde’s face. “Back off.”

Rinde does.

“Marzila,” Thace warns.

“I can get rid of him,” Avok offers, directing his words at Marzila.

“We’re not going to start a fight,” Thace cuts in.

“No one asked you.” Haala throws a glare at Thace, pointedly ignoring Marda.

“Not the time, Haala. You know that,” Thace replies.

They all eye each other for a long moment. Eventually Haala turns to Marda, his ears tilting down, the hard look on his face giving way to hesitation.

Marda frowns and turns to leave. “We don’t have time for this.”

Marzila considers smacking Marda over the head, or maybe breaking her leg or an arm for the flash of hurt that passes over Haala’s face as he tries not to flinch. But she doesn’t. It wouldn’t accomplish anything. The others move ahead, and Marzila and Haala take the tail, keeping a bit more distance between themselves and the others than is strictly necessary. Haala takes a hold of Marzila’s hand and squeezes it briefly, and she offers him a smile.

They don’t get followed, though Marzila puts that up to the Alteans being too busy dealing with their base exploding rather than her team successfully evading them so easily.

The journey to where Shiro and his friends are waiting for them goes on quietly, and Marzila can’t wait to get off the planet. She pushes ahead of her team, pulling Haala along with her and trying her best not to flatten her ears as she passes Rinde and Marda.

 

* * *

 

Shiro tries not to pace. They had seen the flash of magenta in the distance a while back, in the direction of the base, and Shiro doesn’t like it. Whatever it had been, it can’t be good.

The others should be back already. They should’ve at least contacted the ship by now.

It takes five more minutes, five excruciatingly long minutes, for Marzila and her team to appear at the edge of the clearing, their steps hurried. And they’ve got two new people in their tow. Shiro raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, expecting the explanation for the two new people to be good.

“Lets go,” Haala snaps as he passes Shiro, dragging Marzila along with him into the ship.

The druids follow them, as do Galvak and Tayla. Thace stops by Shiro’s side, glancing between his team disappearing into the ship, Shiro, and the two people standing a little way from them. Shiro tries not to stare at the Galran woman wearing clothes that look like they’re from Earth. Especially her bag.

“Friends?” Shiro asks, his eyes flickering from the Galra to the Altean. His get up is just as worn as the Galra’s, and his once white jacket has dark stains on it, like gunpowder that refuses to wash away.

“Not exactly,” Thace says, rubbing his neck. “This is my sister, Marda. And... what was your name again?”

“Rinde,” the Altean replies. “Nice to meet you.”

Shiro blinks, shifting on his feet. “Your... sister?”

“It’s — I don’t know what’s going on either.” Thace turns to Marda, his ears drawing back. “Where have you been?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Marda replies.

Thace bares his teeth. “It matters! We thought you had died. You’ve been gone for years and we thought you _died._ ”

Shiro glances at the ship, wondering how fast he can sneak past Thace and away from the situation. It seems wrong to impose on what’s clearly a family matter.

“We have more important things to be concerned about,” Marda says, as if Thace isn’t looking at her like he can’t believe she’s there, the lost expression on his face barely keeping the confusion and anger from taking over.

“No, we don’t —”

“Where is Keith?” Marda asks, ignoring Thace in favor of turning her sharp eyes to Shiro.

Shiro frowns. “Keith? Why would you... what —”

“Where is he?” Marda presses, harsher this time.

“Gone,” Shiro replies. “He’s gone.”

Rinde steps forward, pushing his goggles further up his forehead. “What do you mean gone?”

“How do you even know who Keith is?” Shiro counters.

Marda and Rinde share a look. “Newsfeed,” Marda replies eventually. “Human turned Galra right by the Emperor’s side is not something that tends to go unnoticed.”

Shiro hadn’t considered that, but it makes sense.

“Why do you care about Keith?” Thace asks.

Neither Marda or Rinde reply. Shiro sighs, his gaze traveling from Marda and Rinde to Thace, who still looks confused and lost, but also annoyed.

“We should go,” Rinde says eventually. “No point in loitering around and waiting for the people up the hill to start hunting us.”

“I agree,” Shiro says. “Are you coming with us?”

“No,” Marda replies without hesitation.

“Of course you are,” Thace says. “You should be with your family. You should at least take a moment to talk to Haala.”

“He doesn’t need me to talk to him,” Marda says.

Shiro swallows, glancing away.

Thace growls softly. “You are his mother, of course he needs you to talk to him.”

“He grew up fine without me, I doubt he needs my time now.” Marda tilts her head. “I’m not sure what you expect me to say to him.”

A moment passes, then another, the silence stretching until it seems unbreakable and about to snap like a rubber band at the same time.

“What happened to you?”

“It’s complicated.”

Thace and Marda stare at each other, and Shiro and Rinde do their best to pretend they’re not there. Despite his desire to slip away, Shiro stays still; he focuses on the silver charm hanging on a ring from the strap of Marda’s bag, doing his best not to draw attention to himself.

Shiro frowns. The charm is... disturbingly familiar and too out of place. “Why do you have Star Trek charm?”

Marda blinks, turning her attention from Thace to Shiro, then to the charm on her bag. “It was a gift,” she states simply, as if it’s not important.

Shiro’s brow furrows. Why would a Galra have received such an Earth specific gift? Unless it’s from the shop Lance got Kaltenecker from, but —

“Are we going or what?” Haala’s voice break Shiro’s train of thought. “Because there’s a big patrol coming our way soon.”

“We’re going,” Shiro replies, glancing at Marda and Rinde. “So, are you coming with us or do you have a ship to get to?”

“We’ll come with you. We probably need to talk more anyways, when we have the time,” Rinde replies, grabbing Marda’s wrist and dragging her towards the ship despite her protests. Shiro and Thace share a look, but they follow Marda and Rinde to the ship without a word.

They will definitely need to talk, and Shiro expects that conversation to be long, interesting, and headache inducing. And he imagines that Thace, Haala and Marda all need to take a moment to get used to being around each other again — especially if everyone had thought Marda dead.

As he settles into his seat, Shiro sighs, tired and already dreading what's to come once they reach their base.

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of the 3rd part will be posted when I have at least 5 chapters of it finished and when I have time to sit down and edit. Further updates will be on [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/Saremina__).
> 
> I hope you liked this!


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